go into the open air
by long time brother
Summary: peter / wendy: Peter Pan, resident bad boy of Storybrooke, accidentally bumps into Wendy Darling, a new girl he's never really seen before but damn, she smells really nice. Like fresh lilies. And roses. Did he mention he bumped into her with his car?


**A/N:** Yup, another Peter / Wendy one. These guys are too amazing - I REGRET NOTHING. Also, pleasesaycaroline is beyond amazing for making me new cover pages for my stories. Go check her out because her stories are fab.

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**go into the open air**

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_'It wasn't love at first sight. It took a full five minutes.'_

**Lucille Ball**

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Wendy Darling's waiting for her brother, Michael Darling, in the parking lot of the school, arms filled with books piled upon each other, teetering on the heels she's borrowed from Belle and she blows out of the corner of her mouth at her hair, bored. "Where are you, Michael?" she mutters impatiently.

She bets Michael got distracted by a cookie shop. Or a lingerie shop.

He goes either way, really.

If only John had decided to pick her up today but he's going to New York tonight for a business meeting and has to take hours to obsess over what shirts to bring. Wendy rolls her eyes, thinking how in the morning, she'd woken to find John panicking over tie colours, demanding her opinion:

Because "pink means light and airy while purple can also mean businesslike and professional and—,"

"John, they're not going to analyse you with a Dulux colour chart."

"Ah-ha! But that's what they _want_ you to think!"

Wendy sighs, eyes flickering around so she can drop her books somewhere, rest her aching arms and phone Michael to yell at him. There's a bench on the other side of the road, she spies, and makes up her mind in an instant.

Walking with purpose (and trying not to twist her ankles because damn, Belle's heels are sky-high), Wendy fantasises about hiding Michael's favourite Avril Lavigne poster. And his Krispy Kreme donut poster.

Ooh, that's _evil_.

She's so distracted, smiling dreamily over the sheer satisfaction of what Michael's face will look like when he realises he won't be able to see his favourite donut when he wakes up, that she doesn't see it coming.

The car crashes into her.

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Peter Pan scowls, tapping at his steering wheel with an impatient finger. "When is he coming?"

"He won't chicken out," Felix says in his slow, sure baritone. He brushes at his hair distractedly and settles into the passenger seat beside Peter calmly. "He's too scared of you."

A satisfied smirk settles at Peter's lips and he allows himself to calm. "We have to be quick," he replies. "One race—Gold can't cover for me for long."

"Here he is," Felix says quietly as Neal Cassidy walks nervously over to Peter's car, taking care not to touch it.

"Uh, hi, Peter," Neal begins.

"You're late," Peter snaps and Neal starts to apologise but Peter rolls his eyes and continues, "We'll meet you near the old Toll Bridge—remember, if you pass this race then you're in."

Peter's gang of Lost Boys are notorious, but not in the way you'd think. They don't terrorise the streets of Storybrooke; no, Peter's far too sneaky for that. No, they work in a crafty way, choosing to slide into the mysterious shadows and slip poisonous secrets into their leader's ears. They press themselves into darkness, camouflage themselves so well only Peter can see them and they're so skilled, so remarkably adept at anything, secret services would only be too glad to keep them.

Neal swallows and Felix eyes him carefully, watching the boy leave. "What makes you think he is worthy of being a Lost Boy, Peter?"

"Lost Boys are called Lost Boys for a reason, Felix," Peter answers as he turns the keys in his car, his usual smirk dwindling. "We're unwanted."

For each Lost Boy holds that in common.

Peter approaches them simply to push some semblance of control over them but along with that, he allows for a warmth and love to wash over them as well. It's why they've stayed so loyal. Each Lost Boy has once craved the comfort of friendship and love but no more.

"But Peter," Felix says, "Neal isn't unwanted."

Pushing his foot on the accelerator, Peter looks startled. "What?" he turns to look at Felix in confusion.

"He has a family who love him and care for him," Felix begins to explain but his eyes flick to the window and he screams, "Peter, look out!"

There's a girl crossing the road.

Peter glances up.

There's a girl and she's got golden hair and—

The car crashes into her.

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"The doctor says you'll be okay," John tells Wendy as she blinks sleepily, looking around herself in the hospital room curiously. "You had quite a bump from that car, Wendy; you need to take it easy. No more heels."

Wendy moans as her hand finds her head, pressing into it. "I feel like someone just filled my head with gravel and Michael's been singing again."

Offended, Michael protests, "My fans tell me I'm handsome and brilliant at singing. Do you know how many times I've been proposed to?"

"Ah," John says dryly, "but you forget: your fans? They're _imaginary_."

Laughing, Wendy sits up and she frowns; John's tie is askew and doesn't match his shirt while Michael's hands are surprisingly cookie-free. Her brothers sit on either side of the bed arguing over Michael's imaginary fans and John's Mycroft Holmes-wannabe disorder. (Michael still claims it's a real thing and John's got it bad.)

"Michael, I took an umbrella because it is _raining_ outside—,"

"No, you took it because you have a problem, John, and the first step to solving that problem is acknowledging that you have a Mycroft Holmes-wannabe complex."

"So what exactly happened?" she asks and her brothers stop arguing.

They exchange guilty looks, biting into their lips as Wendy glances from one brother to another. They do exactly what they do every time they're nervous: John pretends to iron his shirt with an imaginary iron and Michael pretends to be too busy chewing on cookies to answer.

"What did you guys do?"

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Peter Pan nurses his broken nose in the other room.

The nurse clucks over him tenderly, Peter throws her a dark look and she leaves, asking for another doctor to tend to him as she's just realised she's having twins. Right this moment. Even though she's not pregnant.

He'd go to the other room and beat the crap out of the two brothers. If he wasn't, you know, _injured_.

Seriously. How was he supposed to fend them off, anyway?

They'd burst into the hospital like maniacs, shouting for their sister, and when they'd heard that he'd accidentally—IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, YOU IDIOTS—hit her, their eyes had darkened. They'd beaten the crap out of him.

He was outnumbered, okay?

If it was one on one, he'd be fine.

Plus one of the brothers was about fifty years older. Okay, maybe about three years but the point? He's older.

"Hey."

The door swings open slowly to reveal a pretty blonde girl, in a light yellow dress that flows against her knees and presses itself to her figure tantalisingly. Her blue eyes shine at him as she smiles at him a little nervously and the door opens further to show off her legs, one of which is in a cast.

_Oh_.

It's her.

The open window beside Pan suddenly allows a quick breeze to drift in and almost at once, his senses are overwhelmed with the most beautiful sensation of fresh lilies and roses. She hobbles into the room decisively, allowing her scent to wash in more freely and Peter tries to resist the urge to close his eyes and drink in the warm scent.

Peter swallows tightly and nods at her.

"I'm Wendy," she tells him. "Wendy Darling."

"Peter Pan."

He sees her eyes widen with surprise and watches as the realisation of who he really is settles in. Peter Pan, she mouths to herself. Storybrooke's very own version of Chuck Bass without Blair. Leader of the Lost Boys. Resident bad boy.

Got a broken window?

A broken arm?

Broken _anything_?

It's probably Pan.

Peter waits for Wendy to blurt out an excuse and hobble out to her brothers who are probably waiting for her outside.

What she does next surprises him.

"So I heard my brothers beat the crap out of you."

"Well, I wouldn't say crap—I _was_ outnumbered—,"

Peter stops. She smiles at him.

Wendy settles herself into the chair opposite his, pushes her crutches up against the wall and smiles at him before proceeding to chatter on about anything, from her brother's obsession with clean shirts to her lamenting over the fact that she can't wear heels anymore.

Peter finds himself smiling hesitantly back.

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**fin**


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